


Don't Chase The Rabbit

by luciferesque



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferesque/pseuds/luciferesque





	Don't Chase The Rabbit

They tried plying her with candy and songs and little trinkets that they carried with them, but she would not have it. She, instead, gnashed her teeth and pinched at whatever skin was available to her. Before long, the templars stopped trying, and they continued their walk in silence.

She watched the tower rise up in the distance; an impossible thing, monstrous and slate like a dragon awaiting its prey. She had never seen anything so large, not in her entire life, and the templar that held her little hand scooped her up onto his shoulders to give her a better view.

“That’s Kinloch Hold, little one,” he told her gently, and this time she didn’t pinch or scream. She simply watched as the monster grew larger and larger the closer they got.

If she understood, and she always did even at her age, this would be her home now. No more mother and father, no more forest with its spirits and craggy ruins. She would be taken up the tower and she would be there until there was nothing left of her, not even bones. She would never be free again.

Her eyes watered at that, and though she tried her hardest to blink the tears away, they still fell on her cheeks like pattering raindrops until her chin and neck was wet with them.

The doors stood as tall as trees, and the world was eerily silent except for the lapping of the lake by the shore. They rapped upon the door, and a sharp echo rang out, pinging against the inner walls of the tower. She looked up, desperately searching for the top of the building but could not see it from such an angle – the tower was simply too tall.

There was a clicking noise, then the doors swung open before them and they were greeted by more armored-templars, who shifted a path open for them to pass through.

“You’ll be going to see the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter, little one,” the other templar told her, voice tinny inside her helmet.

She watched her surroundings carefully, eyes darting back and forth through the hall. Everything looked the same, grey stone on stone, ceilings domed above her head that flung down echoes of footsteps and whispers. There were people in the antechamber, men and women with sunbursts on their foreheads who looked at her with glazed eyes, other children, some taller than she was now, and adults in velvet and silk, watching her from the corner of their eyes as if ashamed.

The journey up the tower was a long one and it only served to remind her that escape was a word that had no meaning here. She wondered if the templars were trapped in their own way as well, despite being able to leave. Something about them reminded her of bees – they might leave, but were always doomed to return to their nest.

The final door was upon them, she could feel it now, and it opened with a creak. Two men stood opposite each other in a room brimming with more books and scrolls than she had ever seen.

“First Enchanter, Knight-Commander – we have, with us, a new charge for the Circle.”

She could feel herself being pushed forward by a gauntleted hand, gentle though it was, and she resisted, chewing her lip as the two old men approached her.

“Ahh, I see. And what is your name, young lady?” the man in robes asked her as he kneeled down to her eye level.

She said nothing – refused to let them take that from her as well. Her name was the last thing she had from her mother and she would not give it up.

“The woman we found her with – her mother – called her Aeres, First Enchanter.”

She felt the heat rise up in her belly and turned on her heel, trying her damndest to summon that push of force that came to her so easily before. Sadly, it withered on her fingertips as a wave of nausea washed over her, though it did nothing to stave off her anger.

“Aeres, is it? My name is Irving. I’m the First Enchanter here, and this,” he pointed to the armor-clad man behind him,” is Knight-Commander Greagoir. Together, we care for all the mages of Kinloch Hold.”

The man’s voice was gentle, curious even, and Aeres softened momentarily as he extended his hand. Carefully, as if reaching to pet a snake, she took his hand by the fingers and allowed herself to be led forward into the soft, blue light.

“A word to the wise, Aeres,” Knight-Commander Greagoir intoned,” Templars can sense your magic and have the ability to silence it before you can do anyone harm. I would hate for you to find that out the hard way.”

She sneered at that, but said nothing, not even as he placed his hands under her arms and lifted up to sit on the table before them. They handled her like a doll and she was beginning to hate it though there was little she could do but muster nasty glances.

“Now, child, there is one thing you must do for us,” Irving began, taking out a small bottle and a bud of cotton. “We have a ritual for all those who first come to us – something that will help us find you should you ever get lost. It may seem scary at first, the pain, but it will heal quickly, I can promise you that.”

_Heal_. Aeres eyed the bottle warily and then Irving before the sound of steel being unsheathed rattled against the air.

The man in armor, _Greagoir_ , came around, holding a knife in hand, gauntlet sat by the wayside on far end of the table.

He took her hand in his and examined it carefully while Irving poured the substance from the bottle onto the cotton bud and then swabbed delicately at the meat of her palm. The smell of it stung Aeres’ nose, and she could feel the dread welling up in her throat at the sight of the knife.

“Take a deep breath, child,” Irving told her, gripping he wrist tightly.

Greagoir brought the edge of the blade down against her palm, leaving an angry, red cut as he trailed down her hand. Aeres gritted her teeth, trying to choke back her tears, but could not.

“ _Shhh_ , it’s only for a moment,” Irving offered, picking up a phial from the table and holding it to her wound. It filled quickly and he pressed a cloth to Aeres’ palm before sprinkling a blue dust over the phial’s lip. He sealed it with wax and murmured some words under his breath before turning back to Aeres.

“See there? Not so bad, was it?” Greagoir asked, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

Aeres ignored Irving’s ministrations, clasping her hand to her chest as she glared at Greagoir, eyes rimmed with tears. Suddenly, she leaned forward and bit down as hard as she could, right in the thick of Greagoir’s palm.

He exclaimed, trying to jerk his hand back, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Irving, do something!” Greagoir demanded, but Irving was at a loss it seemed.

Finally, he jerked hard enough that Aeres slipped from the table, to the floor, causing her jaw to unlock as she fell. Greagoir snatched his hand back, blood trailing down his wrist and into his armor as he eyed her.

Aeres grimaced at him, blood on her teeth and chin.

“That’s enough!” Irving intervened. He helped Aeres up from the floor and looked at her admonishingly.

“If you continue that behavior, they’ll have no choice but to make your life more difficult here, do you understand?” he asked her, taking her hand in his.

She looked at Greagoir, then back to Irving before nodding slowly, blood dripping off her chin and onto the stones beneath her feet.

“Good,” Irving told her. He peeled the cloth back from her hand, muttering words she didn’t understand, and slowly her skin started to knit itself back together. It itched, burned just a little, but when it finished, there was nothing there – nothing to show she’d ever been cut.

“Now, for you,” Irving said, motioning for Greagoir to approach. He held his hand over the other and muttered the same words and Aeres watched in awe as flesh became whole once again.

She had never seen her father do magic like that, nothing so powerful, and it fascinated her even as the bitterness in her throat welled.

Irving foisted her back onto the table and cleaned her mouth, her chin, silently.

“How old are you, Aeres?” he asked, dabbing a cloth to her cheek.

She contemplated not answering at first but decided against it.

“Six winters. My birthday was in Guardian,” she whispered, glowering at Greagoir behind him.

“Six winters! My, you’re awfully tall for only six winters,” he chuckled, placing the cloth on the table. “You must be hungry after such a long trip, child. Why don’t we go to the kitchen and see what we can find you. Dinner will be a ways yet.”

Aeres nodded sharply, stomach growling.

She took Irving by the hand and hopped off the table of her own volition this time and allowed him to lead her down the cold stone steps.


End file.
